Addendum

All in all, your faithful author was without her computer for approximately 24 hours. I'll bet most of you couldn't even tell. Back online now, but whew, it was a tough day. I had to read a book! The horror!

When I got my new (fancy, European) charger, I immediately plugged in and watched a dog on a skateboard on YouTube. Only then did I feel totally better.

Recipe nº6: Teardrop

1 1/4 oz. Absolut Peppar

1/4 oz. triple sec

(shot-cocktail-recipe.com)

Serve chilled in a shot glass. Beautiful in its simplicity, non?

Today I begin a fun social experiment. Well, not too social, as I will be the only test subject. But I often wonder: as I whole-heartedly embrace the convenience of the Internet, in all its instant-gratification glory (Wikipedia, online t.v., solving silly disputes with IMDB and song-lyrics pages, recipes, weather reports, directions, oh did I mention e-mail, Facebook, etc.), I also worry. Am I becoming TOO addicted? It's soooo annoying when suddenly your network is down; whatever you were doing (and usually it's something super-important, like watching Gossip Girl or checking to see if anyone's commented on your blog (p.s. they haven't)) grinds immediately to a halt and you're back in the plain old, boring real world.

I don't like feeling this dependent on anything. And while I often lament this dependance on "stuff", as I like to call it, the Internet is an especially hard thing to be attached to, being that it's so non-physical. Is it...love?

But today, with a few sputtering clicks (my least-favorite sound made by Apple products; I'm talking to you, iPods number 1 and 2) my computer charger has lazily decided that it's tired of converting French energy to American (les wattes to watts, or what?) and gave up. Meanwhile, I must have been using the computer while its battery slowly and irreversibly drained away, leaving it not really on or off, or as my friend Céline so aptly put it, dans le coma. I've been told I should still talk to it; it can probably still hear me. 

So after I go home tonight and try speaking words of encouragement in soft (dulcet, as Rachel would say) tones into its little, tiny speakers, I will have to decide what else to do with myself. Sans internet. Shall I find myself inclined to do more wholesome things, like take a walk? Watch the sunset over the snowy mountains? Write a poem, perhaps? 

Speaking of which, this whole incident has reminded me of a similar one about a year ago, when my friend Nate (aka Dr. Thinky) inadvertently (well, that's for the judge to decide) left his cell phone in his pants while they repeatedly underwent the wash and spin cycle. This disconnection from the network, and the free time gained from not texting immediately prompted him to turn poetic. And he produced this gem (and I am reproducing it here for posterity):

Lament for a Dead Cell Phone, his last moments... by Nate M.

$2.50 to wash & dry

How much does it cost to cry?

Oh N75 - you were not always clean

but I hope you know I did not mean

To launder you without a care

Amongst my shirts, pants & underwear

You certainly made me easy to reach

Sadly, you could not survive Tide with Bleach

You let me check my gMail 24/7

How many bars can you get in heaven?

I made a mistake, I left you to die

You're texting with the angels now, finally dry

;(

(end quote)

And to this he added underneath, "Translated from French by N. Marsh". This let to some discussion of me translating the poem back into the original French (he seemed to have lost the original), and I was only too happy to oblige, being that this activity was much more fun than studying for my Master's exam, which is what I had been doing. So my friend Patrick and I took a break (from reading some awfully similar French poetry) to come up with this, and I must say I am quite proud.

Complainte pour un portable défunt (les derniers moments)

1.7€ pour laver et sécher

Combien coûte-t-il de pleurer ?

Ô N75 - bien que tu n'étais pas toujours soigné

sache que je n'ai pas fait exprès

de te nettoyer négligemment

entre mes chemises et mes sous-vêtements

Certes, tu me rendais facile à joindre

Hélas, l'eau de javel t'a rendu moindre.

Avec toi, j'envoyais sans cesse des textos

Est-ce que tu captes toujours là-haut ?

Par ma faute, tu étais condamné à expirer

Tu ne communiques plus qu'avec les anges, finalement séché...

So, voilà, now you know my sentiments exactly, and you see that you can hire me to translate your personal poetry into the French anytime. I certainly enjoyed the assignment, Nate, do you have any others?

I'm late for wine and cheese, but I thought poetry would accompany these things nicely. Bonne soirée, tout le monde.

Recipe nº5: French Pearl(s)

2 oz. gin

1/4 oz. absinthe

3/4 oz. fresh lime juice

3/4 oz. simple syrup

Serve chilled in a martini glass, garnished with mint leaf.

(slashfood.com)

As promised, I will now explain why France is great (from a francophile-American point of view, obviously). I am feeling a special urge to explore this idea, as today is gray and rainy and one of those days where it's best to constantly remind yourself why you're doing what you're doing...

Here, for you curious ones, are the things that spur on my desire to expatriate (remember that reason numéro 1 to move to France is the cuisine, which demands its own category) :

1) Les marchés. When I return to the States, my delightful mornings spent buying cheap, delicious fruits and vegetables in a picturesque outdoor setting will be reduced to only a fond memory. Sure, I can buy produce at roadside stands in the summer, or occasionally trek out to Quincy Market, but the country known for its "convenience" cannot compete with France in the open-air market arena. 6 days a week, I can find fresh seasonal produce, along with meat, cheese, bread, and herb/spice vendors in several locations around Grenoble (and that goes for any city in France). Through rain or shine, more dependable than the French postal service, the marchands are there selling lettuce with the field-dirt still attached (yes, this appeals to me). On most days as well, there are other outdoor markets selling clothes, kitchen gadgets, jewelry, etc. Already I am dreading returning to the sad, waxy produce of the U.S., a country where you can buy strawberries in December and must pay a fortune to have anything that's farm-raised or organic. I've made more food from scratch here in three months than all last year, and I've loved every minute of it. 

Contrepoint: The absolute unspeakable horreur of the big supermarchés; I honestly believe Carrefour is the long-lost 8th level of hell from Dante's Inferno. Give me Wegmans any day.

2) Le SNCF, Ryanair and Easyjet. Although it is becoming more expensive (like all travel, d'ailleurs), the train system in France is amazingly efficient and practical, only the more so for anyone who has ever boarded an Amtrak train. The trains come and go at exactly their scheduled times, to the minute, and most layovers do not exceed an hour. It can be a bit annoying to pass through Paris, taking the metro from one station to another, but on the whole train travel is relaxing and enjoyable. Not to mention the TGV, the high-speed train that can take you halfway across France in 3 hours.

The discount air carriers are also unparalleled chez nous les ricains, but watch out for hidden costs: they often fly from non-major airports requiring further travel, and you can't make connecting flights. These disadvantages are made up for by the fact that many of their tickets go for around 30 euro!

Contrepoint: The SNCF offers huge discounts to people 25 or under. Way to rub it in to those of us who are just slightly older than 25 and still dirt poor. Oh, and les grèves, which can put a serious damper on everyone's travel plans, and are completely unpredictable.

3) Health Care. Not being an expert in this realm, I can only recount my experiences with the French health system. I once went to a doctor on a Sunday, which is the most expensive time to visit a doctor for obvious reasons. After being examined, I trotted off to the pharmacy, prescription in hand, only to find they were closed but would open, for a nominal fee, for "emergency" prescription filling. 10 minutes later I left with antibiotics and paracetimol, which along with the pharmacy fee, reached a whopping 12 euros. The doctor warned me the visit would cost 30 euros, but I never received a bill.

This in addition to the superior knowledge of pharmacy employees themselves. Have a sore throat? Skip the médecin entirely and ask the friendly pharmacist, who will lay out your options for you and give advice, generally more precise and helpful than the typical CVS worker who will merely send you off to aisle 5, just to the left of the Cheetos rack, to pick out your own remedies.

Contrepoint: French pharmacies do not sell Cheetos. No, seriously, the only downside for a spoiled American is the possibly shoddy-seeming appearance of public hospitals; but that's just because we're spoiled. Also, cheap schools are a similar benefit to French life, but in their case, the shoddiness is really palpable and influential; although we pay a fortune for our education, I can definitely see the positive effects of this money in the quality of our classrooms, libraries, etc. I mean the University of Grenoble has Turkish toilets (i.e. holes in the ground) on the first floor. Maybe I'm spoiled...

Well, there you have it, the main attractions of France selon moi, after the food, of course. This is a work in progress however, and suggestions are welcome! More to come.

Recipe nº4: Golden (Birthday) Cocktail

5 parts orange juice

3 parts Calvados

2 parts apricot liqueur

splash of grenadine

Chill in a tall shaker with ice cubes; pour into a large glass and garnish with an orange slice and a cherry on top.

(theworldwidegourmet.com)

So, I turn 27 today. It's my lucky number, lucky year, golden birthday (a new expression for me). Things are going to HAPPEN for me this year, I just know it. 

Let's see if my new-found powers can unclog my kitchen sink all by themselves...

How have I decided to spend the big day? Well, it started out this morning with a bit of greasy sink-water-mopping action, and now I'm off to shower* before baking multiple apple pies for Thanksgiving tonight (yet another wonderful coincidence on this my one and only golden birthday. As my Mom said at the hospital, I AM NOT A LITTLE TURKEY!). Then I'm off to sit in on a couple of office hours, generally fretting about what seemed like a good idea to me about a month ago: why not have a Talent Show for Thanksgiving? Wouldn't that be sooo fun? Luckily I think some of the students have planned stuff, but this also means I have gotten myself into playing the guitar--something I am not completely horrible at, in the privacy of my own room--but take me outside of my comfort zone and suddenly I realize you're not allowed to make any mistakes. Dammit. What's a new year without a little humiliation in front of 30 people? Not to mention, the "Spectacle" being my idea, its success or failure rests squarely on my shoulders.

As if to underline the gravity of this situation, the "Numa Numa" song just came on iTunes. I love the shuffle feature, I honestly think iTunes can read my mind sometimes (isn't that the new feature for 8.02?). Hey, maybe I can learn this song on the guitar...

Random universal truth: If you bake apple pies, your house will smell better than it ever, ever has. Unless you have already baked apple pies before.

So now I'm at work, wondering what furthur joy/humiliation the day will bring. Maybe there's some kind of weird French birthday tradition (i.e. "Oui, you must drink this champagne 'til it comes out your nez, and if you don't look at me dans les yeux while you drink it, you will choke on an escargot before your next anniversaire"). Oh, the suspense. Meanwhile, my Facebook page is brimming with birthday messages; I'm getting text messages from Germany, France, and one from the U.S., I don't even know who it's from! 

My Mom very sweetly spent a fortune sending me a ridiculously large ziploc bag of a family Thanksgiving tradition: oyster crackers seasoned with ranch-dressing powder. Sounds fancy, I know, but they are MSG-licious; after tasting some, a friend professed the desire to "take a shower" in them. Need I say more? Mom also sent me a 20 dollar bill. Hm.

My lovely friend Arie sent me the best care package I've ever received (sorry, Mom): lovely candle, luggage tag, fun magnet and the cutest, Kraft mac 'n cheese* for when I'm super homesick. She also included a bag of iced oatmeal cookies, which I had led her on a desperate search for one night. We didn't find exactly what I was looking for ("the good kind"), but ended up after a brief search of two or three grocery stores, stuffing our faces with archway cookies in her car. Good times. I love those people who are good gift givers; it involves a lot of remembering and filing away tidbits of useful information. Kudos, Arie. 

Random fact: I was born at 9:03 p.m., so here in France that will be 3h03 tomorrow morning. So is my birthday today, or not? I reserve the right to celebrate today and tomorrow.

Random fact #2: Googling "golden cocktail" (which I did to find above recipe) brings more urine-related drink recipes than I care to mention.

Thanks for everything, friends. And watch out--this is MY year.

*This is a topic I will definitely be covering in future episodes of "France vs. America"

Intermezzo

A bit o' wonderfulness from my new obsession, 30 Rock...(this one's for you, my very own Liz Lemon).

Tracy: I’m gonna make you a mix tape. You like Phil Collins?
Jack: I’ve got two ears and a heart, don’t I?


Jack: Kenneth, you and I actually have a lot in common. We’re both hard workers; when I was your age it was putting myself through college in Boston, paddling swan boats for the tourists.
Kenneth (disgusted): Is that a euphemism for some kind of sex worker?


Tracy: Dammit, turn on theTV for me.
Kenneth: Dotcom set this up, I don’t know how it works. (pressing buttons on three remote controls)
Tracy (shouting at the TV): TELEVISION ON! PORNOGRAPHY!


LLCoolJ: Yo, yo, yo. What’s your game?
Kenneth: Boggle!


Tina: How come men can be heavy and be respected, like James Gandolfini or Fat Albert? You know, it’s a double standard, and America needs to get over its body-image madness.
Jack: Ohh, come on, what are we, back in college freshman year? Let’s go into the common room and talk about apartheid.


Kenneth: Son of a married couple! Bucky Bright!
Jack: Let me ask you a question, Kenneth. If Mr. Bright here told you to vote Republican, would you do it?
Kenneth: Oh, uh, no sir, I don’t vote Republican or Democrat. Choosing is a sin, so I always just write in the Lord’s name!


Jack: Gentlemen, I regret to inform you that the “Gay Bomb” could not be effectively weaponized. The chemical dissipates harmlessly in open tactical environments. Frankly, it could only work if somehow we could get the enemy into a closed, unventilated space.
Matthew Broderick: Ooh, pens! (knocking over and breaking “Gay Bomb” sample)...
I feel weird.
Jack (looking at Broderick): Let’s do this.

Recipe nº3: Make Mine Français

One nice bottle of French wine. Don't spend less than 5 euros or more than 15. 

Best if consumed with cheese and accompanied by friends, witty conversation.

I've been thinking a lot about : La France vs. Les États-Unis. It's the big battle that dominates my life. Fortunately, it is possible to have both; but which to call home? Especially since there's no word for "home" in French? And will France ever really be chez moi?

My friend Elizabeth and I decided to tackle this question in a practical way last year, when she was living in la belle France and I was visiting, trying to decide whether or not I wanted to take her place a few months later; but a more serious quandary lingered behind our ruminations: to live or not to live in France/the U.S.?

Here is the fruit of our efforts to define the pros of each country, accomplished with the help of a bottle of Château du Petit Boyer (an excellent vineyard, close to my heart), a baguette and several French cheeses (of which we finished all):

Let me decipher: items that are starred are considered uber-important, very hard/impossible to live without. For France, you will see we have starred the markets, restaurants, and environmental conscientiousness. I now feel I would add stars to the whole "speaking French" thing, and perhaps "less stress" as well. As for the ol' stars and stripes, we've got it going on in terms of...being the place where the people closest to us can be found. Apparently that's the only thing we found worthy of star designation. I must say, several items found on the right side of the page seem lackluster in comparison to the left; I mean, we have "Trader Joe's" vs. "universal health care". Hm.

I'd like to elaborate on these lists over the rest of my séjour in France, focusing particularly on what I like about being here. All in all, though, les U.S. me manquent toujours, but is it just my family and friends, or is there something more? I invite those of you who have spent time...elsewhere, to share your thoughts; where do you want to live, and why? What are the things you can't live without? Have you found any aspect of a country that is a deal-breaker, that you absolutely cannot stand? Je vous écoute.

To be continued, with my own list of things that beckon me to stay in France, de manière définitive...

Recipe n°2: Maiden's Prayer

1 oz. gin

1 oz. triple sec

1/2 oz. fresh lemon juice

1/2 oz. fresh orange juice

angostura bitters to taste

Fill a boston shaker (c'est moi!) with ice, pour in ingredients, adding bitters last. Shake well and strain into a chilled glass.

(Joy of Mixology)

I hope the internet gods will smile favorably upon me.

I've started praying. Is that weird? I'm not particularly religious, but I do believe there's something out there...my mom would call it the "universe", I'm happy with calling it God, but it's definitely not a Santa Claus type I'm picturing. In fact, I don't really feel the need to picture it at all, I just hope they're listening. And I think they are, because so far my praying seems to be working!

Before all you imaginary readers run out and start gluing your foreheads to the floor, keep in mind that I don't ask for much, and I think this is the secret to my success. Here's a typical prayer, in fact this morning's:

I pray that today is...somehow fun. That work is easy. And that I do something tonight.

Pretty thorough, huh? And now that I'm jinxing myself by posting my prayers on the internet, let me say for the record that I just received a text message inviting me to eat raclette and drink beaujolais nouveau with several young frenchmen. Two thirds of my prayer have already been granted...it remains to be seen if today will be "somehow fun" but I'm imagining that's not too much of a stretch, especially seeing as how today is la fête de beaujolais nouveau (headache city, here I come) and there is a loud manifestation in the street. Yay, no trams running! It should definitely be "fun" trying to get to my friend's house across town for that raclette!

Sometimes my prayers are more specific, particularly when I know my day involves such fun activities as depositing papers at the préfecture for my carte de séjour (every single foreigner-in-france blogger knows what I'm talking about, and since for now, you're the only ones reading, I'm not explaining). Those prayers can be more serious:

I pray that my papers are accepted. That I can stay in France.

These seem like big things to ask for, but considering the fact that I tend to be an over-organized and generally fretful person, it's highly unlikely that these prayers remain unanswered. I do give credit to God, though, for helping me get away with having only a photocopy of an important document. I shan't say more in fear of arousing the wrath of the internet gods.

It's the wording of the prayers that gets tricky. Because everyone knows, "be careful what you wish (or in this case, pray) for" and I DO seem to get EXACTLY what I ask for. Exhibit A: One morning I asked for something along the lines of: to meet a guy who i find attractive and who also finds me attractive. Beautiful in its simplicity, right? Later that day on the bus, a very cute boy smiles at me and tries to make conversation, but something about his wrinkly-on-purpose-stonewashed jeans makes him a no-go in my book. OK, I forgot to mention that the supposed attractive boy must also be somewhat stylish, interesting, wordly, able to carry on intelligent conversation...i can now see my prayers becoming a bit run-on, and the last thing you want to do is bore their executors. I also think it's smart to stipulate that such large requests don't have to be fulfilled on any one day in particular; I'll leave the timing up to them. 

Any day now will be fine though. Amen.

Recipe nº1: Disaster

cock•tail

noun

1. any of various short mixed drinks, consisting typically of gin, whiskey, rum, vodka, or brandy, with different admixtures, as vermouth, fruit juices, or flavorings, usually chilled and frequently sweetened.

2. any eclectic mixture or miscellaneous collection.

origin

1800-10, Americanism; origin obscure; none of numerous attempts to explain the origin of this word have won general acceptance.

(dictionary.com)

Fun fact: "Cocktail", translated into French, is cocktail (insert funny French pronunciation here).

Fun fact #2: In English, we use the first part of the word "cocktail" as a euphemism for male genitalia; conversely, in French, it is the equivalent of "tail", or queue, that fulfills this important purpose. I suppose "tail" has its share of lewd possibilities, but, and correct me if I'm wrong, I'm fairly sure that en français, un coq is just a chicken.

I hereby begin my ramblings on the american-who-wants-to-be-french experience, and I hope to someday entertain as many as three people. But for now, this one's for you, Diaryofwhy!